


Embracing Nights

by MarshMella



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 04:59:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarshMella/pseuds/MarshMella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She suddenly wanted to tell him that if she had been beautiful and he able to court a lady, she would have loved him with all of her heart; faithful and true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Embracing Nights

"How much longer are we just going to sit here?"

"No raven is coming. Not in this blizzard."

"We can't win. Not against the dead."

Their morale was splintering like thin ice beneath her boots and any moment it was going to break and send her plunging into freezing waters.

To the north, beyond the trees laden down with snow, the bright spots of huge funeral pyres blazed in the night. Some of the dead had been lost during the recent battle but far more had succumbed to exposure.

Looking around the officers who had gathered, Brienne thought that their army looked little better than the hordes of wights they had been fighting. Even those amongst the top ranks were starting to look thin and wild-eyed; starting at every noise like frightened rabbits.

Still, the pessimism came to a sudden close when Jaime Lannister arrived.

Though his hair was darkened by dirt and his face grown gaunt, he still cut a striking figure. Perhaps now more than ever. Brienne had to look away lest she mistakenly show her admiration in front of the others.

"Please, don't let me interrupt."

His sarcasm brought a wry smile to her mouth.

"Has there been any word, commander?"

"No."

"They're dead then," another piped up.

"We should be heading south."

And then more and more voices rose up; an indistinguishable cacophony of sound that had Brienne shrinking away in dismay. These men were truly afraid, she realised, but they were supposed to be leaders. If they no longer believed in their cause than they were lost indeed.

"If you want to turn craven and run south, Lord Westley, be my guest. I doubt you'll get very far alone and on foot," Jaime replied.

"My men—"

"—your men will follow their craven lord? Hide behind stone walls and shiver in their beds until the dead come knocking?"

Stone silence followed.

"There is no 'south' anymore."

And there was the truth of it.

After that, the men lapsed into grudging talks and Brienne thought of a Westeros covered in snow from top to bottom, lands as savage and dark as it was beyond the wall.

The Night's Watch had been warning them for so long. Asking for support from uncaring kings on the danger creeping ever closer. Ironically, the only king who had seen sense was the kinslayer Stannis. But it was all for naught. The wall had fallen and the dead now swarmed amongst the living, seeking to eradicate anything that got in their way.

The conversation went on.

"We cannot continue on this path without knowing whether Ser Marbrand's army still lives."

"And we can't sit here to wait for this blizzard to blow itself out. If we don't keep moving we'll all die of the cold."

"We'll lose just as many if we venture out in this."

"We'll pull back and fortify our defences. Secure our strategic advantage."

Their 'strategic advantage' was a collection of ramshackle buildings set above the rest of the land. Unfortunately, the land was closed in by trees where an open stretch might have given them a better warning of anything approaching. Work had been made to clear the trees but in this weather, the attempts had ground to a halt.

The wind howled at the door, reminding them of the perils they faced.

The dead were relentless in their second lives; blue-eyed and tireless. They fought with rotten, stinking limbs—and crude weapons, dented and rusted. Their snarling faces held yellowing teeth that gnashed together like a rabid dog's, rending flesh from bone. Lacking fatigue. Lacking fear. They could not be worn down nor cowed into retreating.

Some had called it hopeless. Some called it the end.

Brienne had been inclined to believe them when she had spied her first white walker astride his undead steed. The image had stayed with her through every waking moment and galloped through her nightmares when she slept.

_The tatters of the beast's mane lifting up from its ruined neck, sinewy muscles working as it pawed at the snow, snorting angrily. The strange creature; a living thing carved from ice, sitting astride its back; lifting its arm to hold its weapon aloft._

And what a weapon! Brilliant—and deadly.

Its inhuman scream rattled through her dreams most nights, turning them dark and cold and dragging her back to a reality that was no warmer despite the mass of restless bodies around her. She recalled Jaime, sleeping fitfully beside her, so close that she only need reach out to touch him.

She was not sure what madness had made her do it; to close the gap and touch him gently on the shoulder. Maybe she had expected such a slight touch would not wake him, but wake him it had. His body had lurched under her fingertips, his breathing hard. And in the gloom, she had seen only the whites of his eyes.

Then he had dragged himself closer to her, pressing against her back, a heavy arm thrown across her waist. Her whole body had reacted to the closeness, filling her with fear and desire.

In the muffled quiet, she had dared to ask: "what are you doing?"

"Cold," was the only response she had received.

And then he had turned his face into her neck and his nose – definitely cold – pressed into the skin just beneath her jaw.

After that time, they lay like that almost every night that followed and Brienne had begun to allow herself to enjoy it. Some nights – in an attempt to chase away her growing fears – she liked to pretend she was back at home, in Tarth, with a kindly husband spooning against her, his warm embrace nothing less than affectionate. And then she would remember that the man was Jaime and it was the cold that had brought him close, nothing more. When those thoughts crept in, the silent tears edged, sharp as blades, around her eyelids; threatening to spill.

She would die here, she realised, an unloved maid so ruined that not even the prize of Tarth would convince a man to take her hand. No, _there was no more Tarth_ , she had to remind herself. It was gone like the days of summer.

"Brienne."

She looked up, startled, to find that most of the lords had filed out into the cold to return to their men. Jaime was looking at her, head canted, a question in his eyes. There was melting snow in his hair that had set it to curling against his cheek. She yearned to touch it.

"Have you eaten?" he asked. His voice was careful, but the wrinkle between his brows spoke of concern.

She felt herself blush and hoped the biting wind from her earlier trek would mask it.

"No, of course not," he answered for her.

And then she was trudging alongside him through the snow, holding the folds of her cloak tight about her, though it did little to protect from the wind. Brienne allowed him to push the door open for her and then she was stamping the snow from her boots and relishing in the warmth emanating from the cooking fires and the heat of so many bodies packed together. The tables were full, though you would never have guessed from the outside. Many were too disheartened to engage in hearty banter and those that did talk did so in lowered voices as if afraid they'd draw the wights to them.

The stench of food and filth was prevalent. Once, it might have had people gagging. Most were used to it by now.

Brienne held out a bowl and watched the contents slop out of the ladle, splashing on her sleeve. She found a piece of stale bread and followed Jaime through the reams of people. She thought he might pull rank to get himself a chair but instead, he hunkered down on the floor and she dropped next to him, losing her balance momentarily so that her right arm bumped against his left.

She mumbled an apology and shoved the bread into her mouth, chewing on the tough rind.

They'd not had much of a chance to talk since their march into the north and even now – surrounded by so many others – the things she wanted to speak of went unsaid. She saw the weariness in him and it rarely lifted now. Brienne missed the spark in his eyes, the curve of his smile; sharp and charming.

 _You've become as humourless as me_ , she wanted to say, but didn't.

"What was decided?" she asked instead.

"There is little we can do until the storm lifts."

"Will we wait for word from Ser Addam?"

"Once the storm quells, he'll have a day. Otherwise he's on his own."

_And so are we._

And their strategy would change. Without two armies to close off the enemy, what would be left to them? They'd have to garner their numbers before they crossed the borders into the north. Jaime was good with words but even she wondered if he'd be able to convince people that they couldn't hide from this.

Men killing men was one thing but the White Walkers and their hordes of undead…that was another thing entirely.

"The Lannister armies can't do this alone," she said, at last.

"I know what you're thinking, but it can't be done."

"If we treat with the Tullys—"

"—The Tullys have no love for me."

Brienne fixed him with a stern look.

"No." He recognised the look in her eye.

"Sansa is a northern woman. She has a brother on the wall. She is heir to Winterfell."

"It's the Blackfish you'll need to convince, not Sansa, and he's made his opinion quite clear. He will not treat with Lannisters."

Brienne thought of the red-haired youth with her sad, pretty eyes. She'd had her dreams torn from her and yet she had not been broken by it. She had her mother's courage. An admirable strength that kept her going in the face of such adversities.

"There is also Stannis to contend with."

Brienne fell silent at that. She did not want to speak of Stannis Baratheon.

_He killed Renly._

But Renly felt lifetimes ago now. As if the memory belonged to a different woman. Time had dampened her grief and need for vengeance, though the oath she had made in Catlyn's presence still echoed through her mind.

"We will need him," Jaime continued seriously. "We'll need all of them."

"Stannis is no true king."

"Funny you should say that, wench." He seemed amused. "He was next in line after Robert."

"He murdered his brother."

Once he might have teased her about that, but not now.

"Your food is getting cold."

She worried that she had upset him but later as she settled on her bedroll – Podrick in the one next to hers – he snuggled uninvited against her back.

She lay quiet for a moment, heat thudding in her chest, and tried to ignore the burst of warmth as his arm constricted tighter around her. She wondered what this was between them. Wondered whether he felt as lonely and unloved as she did. Brienne could only begin to imagine what hurt Cersei's betrayal had caused. He had been loyal to her. He had adored her in the way all women wished to be adored. And yet she had taken that blind love and twisted it—manipulated it—until it had made a ruin of him.

Brienne could not condone the relationship but she did understand it.

She suddenly wanted to tell him that if she had been beautiful and he able to court a lady, she would have loved him with all of her heart; faithful and true.

Without thinking, she reached up to touch the hand that had settled against her waist and he moved to link their fingers.

 _It doesn't mean anything_ , she whispered to herself.

But whether it did or not, her heart still danced.

\---

She woke to Hyle's infuriating smile.

"I noticed Ser Jaime sneaking off at the crack of dawn. Some people might start to think there's something going on between you if you're not careful."

Her flush came, unbidden. "We would never—"

He laughed, cutting her off. "Strange, how you grow on a man. Would that I could take back my actions when we first met."

She narrowed her eyes at him, feeling as if he were playing some new game.

"You know how to hold a grudge, my lady."

"You made an honourable companion during my search for Sansa," she replied. _When you weren't trying to propose_.

"I would accompany you to Tarth."

"I know."

"You need only ask."

When she did not reply he knelt down before her and met her gaze. "They might be spared the horrors of the mainland."

But neither of them believed that.

The sea would be no barrier, just as the wall had not. Besides, war had arrived on the shores of Tarth long before winter had.

"I don't think anyone will be spared," she said.

He nodded and she realised he was trying to protect her as a man would want to protect a woman. Shield her from the horrors of life as if she might break down at the truth. That was another difference between him and Jaime. Once, Jaime had granted her an entourage to return home if she wished. He had spared no truth, telling her what she would find. A part of her had yearned to go, but she had declined his offer and asked to fight at his side instead.

Just like she had with Renly.

She remembered the relief in Jaime's eyes, too, when she had agreed not to go on that suicide mission. And though she had made no oaths to him (it was unlikely he would ever let her) her bond to him felt more precious than any oath she had ever made.

For all intents and purposes, she _was_ wedded to him.

The sounding horn ripped through the dreary morning, echoing – shrill and piercing – in her ears. Once. Twice. Thrice it sounded.

Their eyes met; widened with knowing.

 _The wights_.

They leapt for their armour and weapons – along with scores of others – and were knocked here and there as soldiers passed them by. And then young Pod was there, aiding her with the last of the fastenings that held her armour together.

The air was frigid, crackling in her nostrils and infecting her lungs with a heaviness that made her sluggish. In the chaos she could not find Jaime but she knew he'd be at the head, readying to face their enemy. The horn blasted again and again and then a scream, long and wracked with terror, sent everyone into a flurry.

She unsheathed the dark blade, Oathkeeper, from its sheath and found strength in the flickers of red that licked up and down its length. This was a sword forged to fight winter.

Tall as she was, the slope down towards the trees gave her a clear view of what they faced. The sentry pines danced wildly as the dead passed beneath, their blue eyes – at this distance – like a sea of eerie stars.

Podrick was at her side, a recent growth spurt making him seem less a boy now and more a man grown.

Hyle was lost to the initial disorder.

And then, quite suddenly, everything came to knit together and, as one, the army surged to meet their foe. The blade felt heavy as she lifted it – a tell-tale sign of her steadily growing fatigue – and then the two forces collided and only survival mattered.

\--

It was a victory, but not one that could be particularly celebrated.

Hundreds dead. Hundreds more injured and many of those unexpected to recover. Their moans of pain haunted long into the evening and Brienne could not seem to get them out of her head.

That night she collapsed, exhausted, onto her bedroll and wished that Jaime was there with her to chase away the cold.

She was woken in the night by freezing fingertips working between her ribs and arm to settle across her side. Her eyes blew wide, panic taking her.

And then: "it's just me, wench."

The tension flooded out of her and she lifted her arm so that he could wrap his around her. His name dropped, accidentally, from her lips and he squeezed her around the middle with something akin to tenderness. The familiar swell of warmth ignited again and for a moment she wondered if, perhaps, in the dark he could forget her scarred face and kiss her.

Would he put another face behind her mouth? Picture Cersei in his arms instead of the big, ugly girl from Tarth?

Would it matter if he did?

Or would he just push her away and put an end to the friendship she so treasured?

She pushed back the intensity of her emotions and tried to think of something else.

"What was the conclusion of your meet?" she asked, at last, in a quavering voice.

"Ask me again in the morning." His breath was scandalously warm against her neck, lifting goose bumps wherever it touched. A shiver ran down her spine.

But before the sun had a chance to rise, Jaime was shaken gruffly awake.

"Lord Commander."

She felt him begin to sit up, but kept her eyes tightly closed. It was easier to feign sleep.

"A party approaches!"

"No rest for the wicked." Jaime ground out. "Come then, lead the way."

And then he was gone and she could rest no more.

\--

The pyres burned bright again that morning and Brienne watched the smoke curling up into the leaden sky with a growing sense of detachment.

This battle had barely begun and it seemed it was already lost.

Hyle crouched down beside her, annoyingly jolly despite their situation.

"Quite a view, huh?"

But when she turned to look at him there was a darkness in his eyes that spoke the truth of it.

 _Laughing to hide his fears_.

"Has there been any word?"

"Not yet. I'm sure you'd be the first to find out, my lady."

She wished he would stop calling her his lady. She wasn't his or anyone's. She wasn't even a lady anymore. Just another soldier fighting this impossible war.

\--

The gossip reached her before Jaime did, though, and soon there was word of an alliance with Stannis Baratheon, true ruler of the seven kingdoms.

"This isn't a war for a king now, Brienne," Jaime began later that day, when she demanded to know whether the rumours were true. "It's a war for survival."

"So you're happy about this?"

He snorted. "Of course not, but what choice do we have? The man would have my head if he didn't have need of me. He might even take it anyway."

"They say Stannis burns his foes now." Brienne replied disapprovingly.

"Yes. He seems quite taken with his fire god."

"We cannot trust him."

"No," Jaime agreed. "Neither does he have the numbers to make much difference but they _do_ have Winterfell."

"No." Brienne rose to her feet. "Winterfell belongs to Sansa."

"Calm yourself. Sansa will have Winterfell. No one will deny her that right."

She allowed the tension to ease slowly from her body but did not sit again.

"So how many men _does_ Stannis have?"

"Too few. Wildlings and begrudged north men, if you trust what you hear. His envoy would have us believe otherwise. Winterfell would be a good stronghold, though. It can be defended with only a small number if its outer walls remain intact."

"So we go to Winterfell?" Brienne wasn't even sure it would be possible. Not with the wights and winter strengthening its hold on them. They had lost a number of their horses, too, and no ravens had been able to fly through the gales that had blown in from the northern seas.

Jaime shook his head. "Not at once. I'm sure Stannis won't mind if we keep him waiting."

She wanted to smile but managed to keep the emotion off of her face.

"The problem still remains. Stannis has not harnessed support of the north. Robb Stark's mistakes cost him dearly. Many of the northern army was slain alongside him and those that weren't were scorned or are too afraid to make a stand. They need someone strong to rally behind."

"Like who? _You_?"

Laughter burst from him.

"Has the cold addled your mind? Our red-haired little Stark girl, of course."

Brienne arched a brow, not convinced. Sansa was a strong, little thing but could she command authority in a male dominated land? And then there was the matter of her husband...

"She's a Lannister now, you forget."

"In an unconsummated marriage. The girl is a Stark and she can play the game well enough. It was a game Littlefinger was quite apt at, until he decided to cross us. She has learned from the best."

When Brienne did not reply he lifted his brows and smiled up at her. "I thought you would be pleased."

The look stirred her heart and when he raised his hand to her, she hauled him unceremoniously to his feet.

"Then you will send for Lady Sansa?"

"Considering the dire state of Stannis' army, I'll be sending for the Blackfish and his bannermen, too."

"But I thought—"

"—Brienne," he interrupted. "We have little choice."

"Then you will be returning south?"

"No. Not me."

She blinked and for a moment he looked regretful.

After a prolonged moment of silence he lifted his hand and set it against her shoulder. The touch sent a spike straight through her gut and down to her toes.

She knew what he meant to say, though he seemed to be having difficulties getting the words out.

"You mean to send me."

"I do."

For an absurd moment she was deeply wounded by his intent. He meant to send her away. Perhaps he had finally tired of her company. Or maybe he wanted to send her south to spare her the horrors of a land ravaged by monsters.

"But Ser Brynden knows of my alliance with you."

"Anyone I send will be allied with me."

"Then send someone who is better able to convince him."

"I could," Jaime replied. "I _should_. But I won't. You know as well as I that the men are losing their nerve. I could send any one of them and they might speak more ably than you, but which one of them wouldn't flee the first chance they got?"

"I've seen the way you command them. They listen to you."

"I can't take the risk."

There was nothing she could say to that.

"When do I leave?"

"When the weather turns."

She'd have to be ready at a moment's notice then.

\--

Brienne spent the evening needlessly polishing Oathkeeper's deadly blade and seeking out the chestnut palfrey she had ridden from the south. She was pleased to see the beast still lived and that he had retained a good weight. His fur was growing in thick now and he nickered softly as she touched his velvet snout. For such a large animal he was particularly gentle.

She wondered how he would fare in the cold. Even with a winter coat, a southern-bred horse did not have the same steely stamina of the garrons favoured by the Watch.

By the time she was done, the sun had departed, leaving the sky bleeding and bruised.

A number of sentries stood huddled in their cloaks, faces to the wind as they watched for signs of danger.

Most others had already turned in for the night, though some had stayed up to drink ale that had been delivered only a few hours past. As she passed them by, a burst of somewhat hysterical laughter filled the muddied courtyard.

She hastened her step, swinging around the corner so fast that she almost walked straight into Lord Westerly in the process of undressing a busty whore.

It seemed like ale wasn't the only delivery to arrive that day.

Brienne backed off, choking on an apology that went unheard by the man who was busying himself with the woman's ample cleavage; one hand fumbling at silky ties whilst the other buried itself in her skirts.

Her shriek deteriorated into giggles that had Brienne's face burning with embarrassment.

It didn't seem to matter how long she spent around men, she never quite got used to people being so open with taking their pleasure.

Would he take his wife in such a fashion? And how would she feel knowing he lay with others? Was it so normal that she'd shrug and continue unfazed? Or would there be something inside of her upset or angry?

Men were quick to talk of their needs but—but Jaime had been loyal.

She ducked her head, chasing away the thought, and hastened to the bedroll that awaited her.

Pod and Hyle were with a group of other men, playing a drinking game of some description. Brienne worried for the boy and may have even said something if Jaime had not caught her eye and given her that knowing smile.

His hair was rumpled. His eyes were tired. Yet the easy smile seemed genuine enough.

"It's…lively in here today," she observed, dryly.

"They have women and drink to lift their spirits."

"Was this your doing?"

The laughter came as easily as his smile had and she smelt the alcohol on his breath.

"You've been drinking, too?"

"Only a couple, my lady. I need my wits about me."

Brienne found that she didn't mind Jaime calling her 'my lady'.

The next hour was spent indulging in talk of strategy, interspersed by teasing that both embarrassed and infuriated her. And then, head pounding, Brienne huddled beneath her cloak and a threadbare blanket.

It took Jaime less than ten seconds to pull himself close and mirror the shape of her body with his; the tips of his fingers tracing the faint line of her ribs.

With a smile, she snuggled closer, feeling warmer than she had in days.

She was just dropping off to sleep when the sounds of nightly activity stirred her back to wakefulness.

 _Some officer and his whore_ , she thought, wishing she could go back to sleep and not be subjected to the lechery.

But the night seemed suddenly focused on the sounds betwixt man and woman, each noisy thrust met by a pleasured gasp that only seemed to grow louder and more frantic. She closed her eyes tightly but the heat blooming inside of her did not ease. Her senses seemed hypersensitive; the press of Jaime's firm chest at her back, the hot brand left by the arm thrown about her. The heat of it threatened to smother her and when Jaime's knee brushed up against the back of hers, she felt her heart jump up into her throat.

She spoke his name, like a question, and his arms tightened briefly around her; maybe to silence her or maybe to offer her comfort. Whatever the reason, she could not help but imagine his mouth against her neck, his good hand grasping at her hip, wrestling the clothes from her body.

The whore cried out, louder still, and Brienne wondered how much of it was from true pleasure and how much was faked for the sake of the client. Wondered if she would ever find out for herself.

If he tried to kiss her now, she knew she would not try to stop him.

And then Jaime was shifting away, turning his back from her. The heat of their closeness dissipated in an instant, leaving only a hollow emptiness behind.

She bit down on her lip to hold back the tears.

 _He can't even pretend I am someone else_.

\--

The following day brought a flurry of snow and a blundering group of wights that moved through the trees in a disorientated fashion.

Brienne's sword slipped through their rotten, icy flesh as easily as if she were cutting through warm butter. But despite the slaughter, the enemy did not show fear nor run to escape their fate. They met it with vigour, screaming in fury.

There was no blood to speak of as their heads rolled through the snow; dead eyes sightless in their emaciated faces – the eerie glow extinguished.

Together they gathered the bodies and fed them to the flames, ensuring they could never rise again. But no matter how many they burned, there were always scores more there to replace them. A never-ending tide.

Brienne stood just outside of the fire's reach, basking in the warmth that feasted in her eyes. Fires were dangerous, ordinarily. It could give away their position to the enemy. But what would once have made her nervous only gave comfort.

She looked up at the clank of armour to see Jaime wiping the grime from his sword. His blonde hair was tussled and dusted with snow, his breathing hard but controlled. The fire set his eyes to blazing and they were fixed on her, filling her with warmth. He looked deadly and beautiful and very much alive.

She wanted to smile. To laugh. But most of all she wanted to kiss him. She even took a step towards him before coming to her senses; flustering at her body's near-betrayal.

"If only every battle was that easy," one of the men declared.

"Villagers, by the looks of them." Jaime replied grimly. "Maybe newly changed."

"From the state of them, I would say they've been dead for a while."

"Dug themselves up out of their graves, you think?"

"Could be."

"No. More like they died out in the open. Ravaged by them damned wolves."

"Come on. Let's get back to the camp before my cock freezes off."

Brienne was last to leave the fire, turning back up the slope to join Jaime who had waited for her to join him. They walked side by side, trudging through the snow, using the footprints of those ahead to make the going easier.

"You'll take some men with you when you depart for the Riverlands."

"Hyle?"

Jaime's face soured briefly. "I would think you glad to be rid of him."

"He is many things, but he can be trusted." She hoped so, anyway.

"He still vies for your hand."

"Then he would not seek to abandon me or my cause."

"Very well. I will be sending four of my most trusted bannermen to accompany you."

"Will you not need them here?"

"What? You think I would send you off alone?"

"You did once before," she replied, knowing how defensive she had sounded.

 _Because being sent off alone went so well the first time_.

Her scarred cheek burned as if in mockery of that failed plan and she ducked her head to hide her shame.

"We do not know how far south the wights have spread."

"If they have, it might be easier to convince Ser Brynden to join our cause."

"The Blackfish is no coward, I'll give him that."

They discussed their strategy in quiet tones and when, at last, they arrived back at camp, the snow had ceased to fall.

The world felt better for it.

It was in the early hours of the following day that Brienne rose to travel south. She had intended to treasure that last night sleeping on her bedroll, tucked against Jaime as if they were something more than friends. Alas, the Lord Commander had not made an appearance and she had slept alone.

She wondered if, perhaps, she had offended him the previous night. Or whether it had finally dawned on him how inappropriate it was for them to sleep so close. The sounds of eager coupling had surely been enough to remind him what a man and a woman normally engaged in.

Still, though she knew she should not expect it, she could not keep her eyes from attempting to seek him out as she saddled her palfrey.

At the sound of footsteps, she looked up to see young Pod leading his mount by the halter, his shaggy hair tangled into a mop across his eyes.

"Have you seen Ser Jaime?" she asked.

The boy shook his head, "no, my lady."

"Seeking a farewell kiss?" Hyle jested. "Surely you're both too honourable for that."

Brienne flushed hot.

"Well, if it's a kiss you want, I am more than happy to oblige."

She gave him a long-suffering look and swung up into the saddle, pressing her heels to her palfrey's sides.

At the sentry point they met four of Jaime's bannermen lounging around in the twilight hours.

"Lead on, Brienne of Tarth," one of the men called out, a young tow-headed southerner with a wind-burned face.

She wondered if they had taken much convincing to accompany her. Had they been displeased at being sent south with a woman?

Forcing the thought from mind, she urged her steed into an easy walk and gave him his neck, her heart heavy.

They were perhaps ten strides away when she heard her name being called and wheeled around so fast in her saddle she almost tipped herself onto the ground. Grabbing at the pommel to save herself, she paused to hand Pod the reins, and dismounted.

 _Jaime_!

"What is it?" she asked as she drew within earshot, "what's wrong?"

"There's been word from Marbrand."

He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to one side, using the hastily erected outer wall to create a barrier between her and her troupe. The sharpened tree trunks driven into the ground gave a false sense of security from the dangers lurking outside but it was surely better than nothing.

"He is well?" she breathed, hands shaking as he handed her the small roll of parchment; its wax seal already broken.

Her eyes scanned the letter blindly at first, not seeing the words scrawled there and it took a second read for her to absorb some of what was written.

Addam Marbrand still lived, though his men had suffered great casualties to reach the coast. Still, their safety was not the primary concern of the letter.

Brienne's eyes scanned the sentence over and over again.

 _A Kraken has washed up from the Narrow Sea_.

"Ironborn?" she queried.

"Read on."

"…Unsullied?"

"The Targaryen girl has herself an army of Unsullied," Jaime filled in. "Although she's hardly a girl now."

"The Ironborn are bringing her here? Why?"

"Why do you think?"

"You said it yourself, Jaime. This war is for survival now, not to see who will sit the throne. If they mean to make for King's Landing whilst we're distracted fighting the bigger battle, there will be no kingdoms left to rule."

"Think, Brienne. If the rumours are true and this Targaryen woman has living, breathing dragons, she could use them to chase winter back beyond the wall. Who will the people rally behind if she does that? She'll win the heart of the north and the south will follow."

"But there are no dragons." Even as she said the words she doubted them.

He stared at her and she met his gaze solidly.

Eventually she asked: "How does this change things?"

"Nothing for you. I still need you to go south to treat with the Blackfish."

"And you?"

"On to Winterfell."

"Not to Marbrand?"

"No. He'll stay with these new arrivals and report his findings. If there is one ship, there will be more. If she has come to aid Westeros, she will go north.

_And if she hasn't?_

"I will take the news to Stannis," he continued.

Everywhere there were enemies and they were caught between them all. It felt wrong – now more than ever – to leave his side But what could she do? They were in desperate need of allies and until they knew what the Targaryen woman wanted, she had to be considered a potential threat.

"I will make haste." She said at last.

He took a step towards her.

"Stay alive, Brienne." His voice was so soft, so—so caring—that it threw her off guard. He seemed to realise it, too, for he schooled his expression and allowed a smirk to lift the corner of his mouth.

"It would be a shame if you were to die a maiden," he teased.

"Even if I lived to be a hundred, I would die a maiden, ser."

He said nothing.

Embarrassed, she pressed on: "there are worse things to die as."

"Like a Kingslayer, you mean?"

"Must we speak of that, again? You did the honourable thing."

"And look where it got me."

They were silent again, avoiding one another's gaze, and Brienne felt suddenly uncomfortable. He was standing close – far too close – and she thought of his arm draped around her as they slept, his mouth against her neck, mumbling against her skin.

But that hadn't meant anything.

It was just a way to keep the cold at bay.

He touched her hand and she startled; feeling nothing like a warrior and everything like a naïve young girl who didn't understand what to do about her treacherous, inappropriate thoughts.

 _Kiss him. Kiss him_.

She tried to silence the little voice in her head but then he was closer still, his hand lifting up to grip her by the shoulder with a desperate sort of roughness.

"Jaime," she whispered, sounding frightened. "What are you doing?"

"Something very dishonourable."

And even though she knew what he was going to do, she still couldn't quite fathom why he would want to. She was nothing like Cersei. She was…she was…

…trembling.

He was so close now her eyes could barely focus on his face and yet he already seemed to be having second thoughts. His brow was furrowed, his grip on her shoulder tight.

"What do you want?" he asked at last.

She blinked stupidly at him.

"What do you want?" It was more of a demand now.

She knew what she wanted but she was afraid to speak it. Afraid to admit that she cared for him far more than she should.

"Would this be so dishonourable?" He was leaning closer still, his lips moving barely a centimetre from her own. His breath was warm on her face. Tantalising.

 _Yes_ , she thought. _You are Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. There is nothing honourable in this_.

Brienne wanted suddenly to weep at the unfairness of it all. He was offering her the kiss she had dreamed of for so long. Offering something she could not accept. He was a better man now. She could not ruin him with this.

Wordlessly, she shook her head, preparing herself for the days of regret that would surely follow.

Instead, she leaned down to kiss his cheek; finding a courage she did not know she had.

Except that in the time it took her to lean down and kiss him, she had misjudged, and instead of his cheek, her lips had found the corner of his mouth.

He sucked in a sharp breath and she froze immediately, eyes wide.

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid_!

And then his mouth was slanting over hers and there was nothing either of them could do about it.

**Author's Note:**

> The end.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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